


A deal

by angelinthesky



Category: Batman (Movies 1989-1997), Batman: The Animated Series, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 14:29:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5052070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelinthesky/pseuds/angelinthesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a Monday night and she was stood up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A deal

**Author's Note:**

> It's just a short thing I wrote the other day for fun.

            Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. Though it was a Monday night, every table was occupied by couples, sometimes groups of three or four. Everyone dressed in the same posh style: women in long sparkling dresses, pearls and diamonds; men in tuxedos, with expensive watches flashing as their cuffs were pulled up with their movements. Everyone’s laugh filled the air, almost making the huge chandeliers tremble.

Well, everyone’s but hers, she thought, smiling bitterly. She mingled her drink with a cocktail umbrella, took it out and finished drinking in one sip. One more and she would call it a day. She’d probably already bankrupted, given the prices of Iceberg Lounge. Also, she should have freed the table. To be honest, she ought to have done it a long time ago, but hope dies last.

“Can I do anything for you, miss?” She heard yet another waitress. She wondered if these girls traded comments about the miserable woman sitting by herself for two hours, clearly stood up.

“No, thanks, I’ll go to the bar.” She said, throwing the little umbrella into the glass angrily. “If you were so kind as to bring me the bill up there.”

“Ma’am, the bill has already been taken care of.”

            She lifted her head up to look at the waitress.

“By whom?”

“By Mr. Cobblepot, ma’am. In fact, he wanted to talk with you, so it would be best if you stayed here.” The waitress’ voice suggested that this was not a discussable matter. With that she left.

            She sighed. The situation didn’t look pretty. She usually turned down most men who wanted to buy her a drink and obviously hoped for something more. But they weren’t Cobblepot. He was a wealthy man, rumoured to have connections with mafia. And Iceberg Lounge was his place, so she couldn’t really escape from here. She only hoped he could be rejected easily and painlessly for her. She didn’t know if she could bear sleeping with a man who, euphemistically speaking, had no conscience.

            There he came. Not so tall, but not necessarily that short. He definitely looked better than in the newspapers she used to read. Despite her knowing what his appearance was, she still wasn’t sure if that was him. The first time she met someone famous and it had to be a rich Gotham gangster. Wasn’t life funny?

            He sat in the chair opposite to her, moving rather gracefully with his iconic dark umbrella. She raised her eyes from the empty glass and looked at him. Dressed elegantly, Mr. Cobblepot made a very good impression. He wasn’t handsome, but he was taken care of in a way only money could allow for. Well-cut hair, manicured nails, heavy cologne. Cobblepot was whom she had always wanted to be: an elegant, important businessman. The thought made her mood even more bitter.   

            She observed him carefully, waiting for him to say something. Only after a while of silence did she realise that Cobblepot expected _her_ to make the first move. She looked down at the table, raised and relaxed brows in a gesture of disbelief and turned back glare into him. He shot her amused gaze.

            She wanted to get over with this quickly.

“You’re Oswald Cobblepot.”

            He chuckled.

“Well, aren’t you direct, my dear.”

“You paid my bill.”

“Correct.” Cobblepot’s blue eyes were now watching her piercingly. His head tilted to the left slightly.

“Why?”

            He leaned on the chair. A smug smirk covered his face.

“You have been sitting alone by a table for a couple for two hours, if not more.” The man answered, patting the umbrella curve handle. She held her emotionless look still. “Your eyes are sad and I own this place. Why should I not pay your bill?”

“I don’t need pity. And I certainly do not want to owe you anything, Mr. Cobblepot.” She tapped on the table. “I pride myself in respecting my persona.”

            The man laughed heartily.

“My dear, you surely have quite the character.” He hung the umbrella on the arm of  his chair. “Of course you do not owe me anything, it was merely a... gentleman‘s gesture. Now, I would buy you a drink, but you could take it wrongly, so I must insist on you having a dinner with me.”

            It was her time to lean on the chair, arms flung to the sides. She knew this situation was suspicious, but couldn’t find any proof to confirm of it. There’s nothing in life for free, as her mother used to say. She eyed Cobblepot. So far he acted politely. He didn’t ask her to call him by his first name; kept his eyes on her own, never lower; clearly wanted to make her feel better. But she wasn’t naïve. Everything came at a price.

“How can I believe I’m free to reject your invitation?”

“You cannot, dear.” He smiled and waved for a waiter. “Blessed are those who have not seen…”

            And yet have believed. She looked into his arctic blue eyes. Something told her to run, even move out of this cursed city. But at the same time she felt excitement filling her chest. She would finally taste an adventure. Hell, if Cobblepot was smart enough to seduce her, he probably deserved it. And she could use a little luxury.

“I won’t be a cheap person, Mr.Cobblepot.” She stated and looked down at an opened menu.

“I am not buying you, child.” He chuckled. “But I wouldn’t expect any less.”

            She was truly impressed with the owner of the Iceberg Lounge. Cobblepot knew how to make an impression. Words availed him, sharp voice helped formulate well-thought and, she reckoned, not entirely true ideas. He was a player. A good one.

            After they ordered (she was affected by the fact that he knew the waitress’ name), Cobblepot once again started staring at her. She raised brows, eyes glancing with the same dull look, face twitched in a slightly ignorant grimace. She gave him a chance, but she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Considering her date hadn’t shown up, he was lucky she didn’t hate the entire male race.

“Could you tell me something about the woman in a black dress?”

“Excuse me?”

“Behind me, there is a blonde sitting.” He explained, head slightly tilted to the right. This gesture reminded her of a parent patiently teaching a kid. Irritating.

“The one with short hair?” She asked, slightly balancing her neck to get a better look.

“Yes.”

“It’s navy blue.”

“No difference, dear. What can you tell me about her?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know her” She shrugged. “Is she famous?”

            Another waitress came back with their meals (very quickly, duly noted) and Cobblepot again called her by name and thanked. It was so natural she began to think it wasn’t just for show.

“You looked as though you were observing everyone around.” He stated, cutting the steak. “So I am wondering whether you have noticed anything.”

            Her eyes squinted. Either Cobblepot had every move in the Lounge under strict control or he was really interested in her.

“And you thought I was playing Sherlock?”

“Why, my dear, I rather thought of Miss Marple.” He smirked.

“I know her that much to feel a bit insulted, Mr. Cobblepot.” She pointed at him with a fork in a threatening gesture, but smiled anyway. “The lady wears Ralph Russo. She’s rich, but has no taste. Unfortunately, those dresses only look good on tall thin girls. And she chose a tawdry one. I cry when I see someone spend money on something so trashy.”

            She looked behind Cobblepot all the time and tried to eat her pasta which tasted like heaven.

“Besides, it’s too elegant, even for the Iceberg Lounge. Nobody wears haute couture normally.”

“Which means it is no normal occasion.” He added.

“Well, one can never be sure with you, riches.” She smiled bitterly. “You need no occasion.”

“Oh, please.” Cobblepot waved his hand. “What else?”

“She’s back from the hairdresser, but I guess it’s nothing abnormal to you.”

“So what do you think?”

“What do I think about what?”

            Their plates lay empty on the table. The man sighed, his head shaking. They both had wide smiles on their faces, almost cracking into laugh.

“My dear, please, do not insult my _and_ your intelligence.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Cobblepot.”

“You need money, don’t you?” He suddenly asked. In that moment the man reminded her of a predator carefully circling its prey. She didn’t like where that was going. Safety she had felt for a second snapped.

“Why, did my non-designer dress tell you?”

“I can offer you a job.”

“Sorry, I don’t feel like being a waitress.” She snorted.

“Five thousand for her date’s number.”

            Her voice died down. Cobblepot adapted business face. He put a cigar in the mouth and searched his pockets for a lighter.

“Excuse me?” She could feel dumbstruck in her head.

“Bring me that man’s cell phone number and I will give you five thousand dollars.”

            She watched the smoke from the cigar. In the next second she leaned towards him across the table.

“I can’t get Stoffer’s number on their anniversary night.” She hissed.”It’s…”

“Impossible?” Cobblepot puffed some smoke, smiling indulgently.

“…unethical.”

“My dear, you are beautiful, but are you not overly confident? Stoffer is a conservative, after all.”

“Mr. Cobblepot, I know my capabilities.”

“Is this why you’re sitting with me here, child?”

            She sighed.

“A little accident. Can happen to anybody.”

“Well, shall we have a deal? If you overcome your… morals and get the number, come to my office, where we will discuss the job offer.  If you decide not to ruin Stoffers’ night… you will be blessed because you believed.”Cobblepot took his umbrella in his hands.

“And if I fail?”

            The right corner of his mouth went up, similarly to the countenance he had when he asked her not to insult their intelligence.

“Until next time, dear.”

 

 


End file.
